


A Collection Of Thingamabobsits.

by SunsetConservatory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Bees, Blood and Gore, Demons, F/F, Fluff, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunsetConservatory/pseuds/SunsetConservatory
Summary: Made with love and wrapped in tin foil.Enjoy this ride deep, deep, deep into the Hell that is the lives of other people.





	1. Dying both on the inside and outside.

A murky, fog-filled lab. Shelves upon shelves of arms and legs wrapped in deli paper, and eyes, hearts, lungs, small intestines, the works; all jarred and placed above ground on paperwork and empty ramen noodle cup cluttered desks or the many, many shelves. The fog was so thick, so rancid it's hard to believe anyone with a sense of smell could even bear to be within a ten-foot radius of the area, yet here you are, scratching back that dark floor-touching pile of rotten mop cloth you call hair as you scour through a basket of various metals.

 

Your smile breaks into something wider and completely not supposed to fit on a human(???) face when your fingers bump into a familiar much-beloved rod, black nails unfeeling to the pressure pressing against them.

 

Two steel rods. The very sight of them in your hands brings an even bigger smile to your face. You spin, dancing with the rods as if with a dance partner, the icy fog dances around you. You tap your feet, skipping a little as you make your way towards the chair containing the albino. That shitty corpse made of various parts. Various parts you never should have given it.

 

The sight of the intact cuffs still caging the tiny child down gives you no comfort or feeling of safety, your meter for both of those is full; you’ve no fear of this miniature poodle, you’ve already seen your grandparents going at it more than ten times.

 

“Annnnnnnd done did it!” You slam the steel rods into the boys head, teeth bared as you suffocate your body in self-generated electricity to pass onto the metal. The body twitches and spasms, still slumped over as the currents flow into his lifeless body; the cuffs keeping his patchwork carcass from falling onto the floor. You drop your hands from the rods, watching the static move his body for him through your soggy bangs.

 

The current throws his body back into the chair, without any warning you’re staring into a red and a bleeding blue eye, both staring expectantly, “You l-ittle rotten pumpkin batch! Yooooou’re awake!” Your hands clasp together, steam from your internally burning organs pouring from your mouth, “I knew it, I knew, knew it!”

  
  


His head lolls to the side, white hair fanning across his shoulder, “. . .Pump. . .kin? Are you. . .my mom?”

 

You throw your arms out for a hug, scorched sleeves burning away from to uncover your scarred hands. Your sing-songy tone of voice becomes so up-beat you can feel your own mother cringe in her grave, “Fuck you~♥!”   
  
“. . .This behaviour isn’t very motherly.”

Your fingers twitch, “I’ll deanimate you thrice in one day, Kohaku.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There goes my first sweet little story! I'm ready to make more and more! Soon, get ready for my plague to infest this site! ♥♥♥♥


	2. Odd. . .but the good sort!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking your divorced coworker to breakfast sounds fun when it's in your head.
> 
> Your stupid, stupid head. . .

It was a balmy Tuesday morning, barely anyone in the small café, the handmade sign above the front doors read 'Marigold Au Lait' in cursive, gold paint. Nearly no one was there to overwhelm the early morning bustle on the streets outside. People came from everywhere, to have gone to work, school or possibly meet up with an old friend such as the woman inside the cafe, Arnica Adlerflügel. Inside the cafe, a nearly middle-aged woman with a healthy, large head of strawberry blonde hair curling around her head leaned toward the foggy, wide window right beside her shared booth. She spotted no familiar faces on the streets, but the liveliness did its job at having eased her jittery nerves.

 

Arnica dragged a gentle finger over her bright red lips, face toward the table with dewy, amber-coloured eyes.

 

Pardisse, her new coworker, had insisted on taking their orders to the counter; once the clacking of the younger woman's heels had faded into the chatter of the cafe, Arnica pinched the bridge of her nose to soothe the pulsing pain in her head. A warmth suddenly wafted over Arnica's hunched over frame, accompanied by the mingling scents of white tea and chocolate. Pardisse, collared dress having looked more like a gown on her figure, towered over both the booth and Arnica herself with their respective orders in her hands, naturally narrowed eyes having stared down at the blonde.

"If this upsets you-" Arnica's hand shot up, eyes rapidly blinked to force away her tears.

"проблема не вэтом, I am merely with tear."

 

Pardisse placed the drinks on both ends of the table, her cup of ice-cold white tea beside her epistolary novel, and Arnica's hot chocolate right underneath the other woman's chin before having took her seat across from her, "We're here to talk, so," Arnica's eyes welled up more when Pardisse's hand warm hand grabbed her own, "Let's. . .talk."

"I donnot think-Sweetie," The feeling of another woman having held her hand like that was strange, not at all bad, but strange to her, "Old pervert like me, shouldn't brainwash you-"

 

"The only ' _old pervert_ ' brainwashing anyone is still weaselling his way out of child support." The further narrowing of Pardisse's eyes left them in slits, ruby-hues gleamed with contempt for someone Arnica has never met and knew she never would.

 

"Missus Lapran," Pardisse, after having snapped out of her anger, opened her mouth to protest the title when Arnica continued, "Do you find my personality attractive?"

 

Pardisse's surprise was apparent on her swarthy face, at the prolonged silence, Arnica couldn't help but feel as if she crossed the gun-line.

"Useless question, I know! Didn't mean to creep-"

"I'd like to own a shvan with you."

 

Arnica was silenced once more, reddish curls having framed her blank face.

 

"Let me reprash," Though neither fully noticed, Pardisse's stumble left a bitter taste in her mouth that she could never explain, "I believe you have a very sweet and caring nature, raising a pet with you would be **perfect**."

 

Nothing was said, and Pardisse's words hung in the warm, busy air of the cafe. Even when the granddaughter of the owners strolled by with Arnica's lemon dacquoise and a few languid comments on something Pardisse had said at the counter, they both remained in a thick silence. The ceiling fans did nothing to cool Pardisse's rapidly heating skin under Arnica's stare. The blonde tightened her fingers around Pardisse's hand, plump pink smile having quelled one of the woman's fears; and right then that was enough.

"I'll consider it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day two of Inktober: Writing Edition - COMPLETE!! It took a while to do this, but it's worth it, ahaha!!!
> 
> If anyone's wondering where day one is. . .I didn't discover this till' twelve at night today, aha. . .
> 
> . . .
> 
> . . .
> 
> I'll be back tomorrow with another one! And then the next day, and the next until-awo?? Is the month over already?
> 
> Okay, lameo surpemeo out.


	3. The B e e s.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though she XXXXX her daddy very much, fourteen-year-old Monoko won't let such a thing like XXXX get in the way of her fun!
> 
> Neither will her brother, with enough 'convincing'. . .

“Kids, don’t go outside today; **_the bees are in full swing_ **.”

 

The wooden door shuts quietly behind their father, a piece of his star-patterned, gooey hair catches in the door, bubbling and floating in place, before popping out of existence. Ahiru spins on his heels to face his sister, nearly tumbling over when the wide grin on her freckled face makes his stomach drop. The twin brunette sits with her knees folded underneath herself, eyes narrowed and gazing everywhere besides Ahiru and the thick book in her twitching grip.

 

With the ice in his veins and the threat of physical and emotional harm so close it’s basically inside of him, Ahiru points straight at Monoko’s marker attack victim of an upper lip, “The moustache’s still there.” Monoko whips at her upper lip again, but her brother only laughs louder and louder until her leg shoots out, heel slamming into the flesh underneath his kneecap.

 

“Let’s go outside,” Monoko’s grin remains large, tugging on her long hair with her free hand absentmindedly. Ahiru on the other hand, grips his rapidly rainbow changing bruise with a reddened face, only responding with loud, heavy breathing, “We can catch bees!”

 

When Ahiru doesn’t respond―in any other way than he currently is―Monoko scoots closer to her fallen brethren, and her smile immediately gets taller upon sight of the drool leaking from the corner of his mouth and onto the ground.

 

“So we’re both ready to eat!! Yeah! Let’s go!” If she were six years old again, Monoko would knock their tusks together in agreement. But alas, she's much too old for that now; plus, Ahiru is a gross cheese eater in her eyes.

 

Monoko drops her herbology book on the bed, and slides her arms underneath the knees and bandaged neck of Ahiru, pulling him up off the floor without his protesting. And with no complaints, she carries her younger brother across the room at full throttle, and without so much as a first thought,

 

**Shatters their rooms only window with their bodies.**

 

Glass splinters and follows the two out, the window breaking with a crinkling noise most pleasant to Monoko’s ears. In their descent to―at the very least―Ahiru’s imminent demise, Monoko jerks forward, welcoming the icy morning air as she opens her mouth to catch as many flying glass shards as possible; Ahiru only catches the shards with his skin, regretting his lack of protests now that he’s snapped back to reality. With widened, matching blood orange eyes, all the heat in Ahiru’s stomach plummets to deep abyss of his gut.

  


“M-m-moo– **_MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!_ ** ”

  


Ahiru channels everything inside of him to force himself into action, but those limbs refuse to do anything but twitch against Monoko'sarms; his pyjama pants not even feeling any type of pressure. Monoko, chewing through a mouthful of glass, doesn’t seem to even try positioning into a landing stance. Not like she could since she refuses to think about preserving herself, and _if_ she even though about it the question is if she even _would_. As such, the frigid morning air carries the twins to their grave on the wet, snow-covered ground outside their cottage; Ahiru shuts his dewy eyes and screams in an entirely new octave in response.

 

  
\------

Ahiru feels his heart drop when his sister's left-hand lands on his face, “Aherwo, dwo ‘oo wan fum?”

“Sh-shut up, stop moving!”

 

**The bees have descended.**

 

The buzzing is overwhelming. The world is nothing but a circulation of tiny, fuzzy, yellow and black vultures swarming them in troves. And while Ahiru is trembling from both the fear of an adorable death and the snow melting through his pyjamas, Monoko happily munches on the glass while yanking on her brothers face as he nearly screams in fear.

 

“St-stop!”

“Hehehe~♪”

 

And their cloaked father, who just left through the houses front door and rounded the house at the sound of glass breaking not more than forty-three seconds ago, glowers down on his children; Hell, they could even feel the eye hidden behind his dark bangs glaring down at them. With a tone of pure melancholy, he sighs more than he annunciates.

 

“Why is everything you do to spite me.”


	4. Hey, Sun, Shut The Fuck Up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakura's pretty much ended her silence against the God damn attention whore in the sky.

"One daikon n' nougat creme. Madam Lee."

 

Her lap is covered in icicles and frost. No matter how steaming the sand underneath her is, or the abusive rays of the Sun which has yet to go down for the last seventy-one hours, Sakura has yet to see either the frost nor the cream in her plastic cup even begin to melt. It's been so long since she's tied her braids up.

 

". . . . . . .Burn already." She goes to pokes the plastic and immediately regrets it when her finger sizzles from the sheer heat radiating off it, skin charring to a murky grayish-pink, "Yeoc-?! Set already, you dead cylinder!"

 

Sucking on her wounded index finger, Sakura doesn't even dare to look up, lest she gains another burn on her face to match the one under her eye. Merciless, that's what the Sun has become upon this small world. She couldn't remember a time she saw then snow ever melt, but the wrath of the suns non-stop heat consumed the cold of the world; within an hour of the first day, she had no need for her fifth layer.

 

The cream and ice still refuse to melt.

 

Sakura grinds her teeth, slapping her hands together much harder than she knew to be necessary. Pulling them away, a consistently deforming ball of water grows from the space within her hands, the more she pulls her hands away the larger the ball becomes. Pomerfrates swim in and out the transparent blue liquid, Sakura lifts the ball over her head before dropping her hands and letting it burst over her scalp.

 

Her eggplant coloured hair nears black, she vaguely remembers the pleased expression on the cashiers face when they had gotten a faceful of her self-made water. The added memory of having to repeat her creation with nearly every other customer inside the cafe and those watching from the outside isn't as heart-warming to remember. But now that her sea sickness has passed and she's charged herself, the temporary cool dripping down the side of her face brings a smile to her sunbaked face. Even with the fish flopping for life and simultaneously being cooked in her hair, Sakura feels relatively at peace.

 

Then she remembers the unmelting drink and ice. And the Sun vying for attention,  _but not following through with its actual job_.

 

"I've had enough." She forms a finger gun and angles it towards the Sun still high as ever in the sky, water building up at her fingertip. Smoke comes from her suddenly igniting left hand.

 

The oceans waves cover the sound of wailing, even if they themselves have a hard time enduring this heat that won't go through with its intentions.


	5. You're Missing Your Brain Stem, Sir.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sodium revisits the basement to have another interaction with his little sister.

“Inez!!”

 

Not even a blink. Not like he could’ve even seen it, he  _ was _ the one to put that decrepit borzoi skull on her head. She just sat in the middle of the hole-covered floor, legs spread apart. Her response was a ghastly moan, muffled through the bandages tightly wound around her head.

  
  


Softly shutting the half-door behind himself, he waltzed toward the corpse, smile hung from his lips. 

 

He still has a little sister. She's infected. Infected, reanimated; what's the difference? She was still here with him. Whether her brain could even process their relation anymore no longer mattered.

 

Her film covered eyes still stared into his when he changed her bandages.

 

Little, nubby fingers still reach for him. Leather gloves left fabric burns from where she tore at his skin.

 

Though he'll admit, her biting is pretty unwelcome considering that she was older than three.

  
  


He wrapped his bandaged arms around her frame, like broken sticks. She clawed, snarled and rammed against him. Both laughter and blood spilt from his lips, and he held her close.

  
  


Sodium didn’t mind his next three hours being spent that way.


	6. Mariantonia Hates Elevators.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On her way to the Date twins birthday party, Mariantona comes face to face with the very woman who killed her mother and stole her man.  
> Elevator three in building twelve.

“Tha’ Hell?”

Mariantonia shifts the ring on her pinky finger over and over, knees shivering. The water clinging to her clothes only draining her shaking body. The glowing red numbers in the elevators display remains stagnant. Her upper lip trembles, arms wrapping around her body as if a protective blanket.

The elevator feels a lot colder when it isn’t moving.

She never liked the metal confines. She didn’t like the confines of anything. But this?  _This_? She might as well stuck herself in a prison cell that begins closing in on you.

She tries to breathe in through her nose, but that doesn’t stop her elevating breathing rate.  She tightens her one-man-hug, keeping her heart from breaking out her chest after battering her ribcage to dust .  Mariantonia taps her heel on the floor, the metallic clanging mixed with sluicing water makes her cringe . But, at least, it's a sort of distraction.

The elevator creaks, and she yelps in response. Her chest is searing. She never knew her heart could hurt her like this with no one else involved. Pressing a hand to her breast, the sheer force coming from her hearts beat is. . . _ scaring her. _

Darkness enshrouds her not a moment later. Mariantonia can’t even will up the strength to gasp, only a squeamish chuckle comes out. She curls her fingers into a fist, pressed even further into her chest. Milking the water from her thin top. It’s either that or biting--and she can’t  sully her smooth, ‘caramel cookie’--in her own words skin with teeth marks.

“It-it’s dark, tha' lights went out, out, oh dear.” Now, she realizes the lights went out. Guilt then prickles in, akin to thorns. She’s. . .never making it to the Date’s birthday party. Ever. The darkness will swallow her whole. She can see it now. Edges piercing, reaching out and bounding back. She turns to look at one corner only for another to try and grab her.

An ice-cold hand grips her shoulders, pushing her to her bare knees.

Tears bubble at the edge of her eyelids, scorching her eyes and blurring her vision. The metal is even colder against her flesh.

_ Ding _ .

Soft footsteps ring in her ears, clicking in her mind to try and wake her up.  Her stupor is too strong  however , leaving her reeling on her knees when an entertained voice breaks the silence .

“Miss Bates, to think, I assumed you weren’t coming.”

Her head swivels to meet the voice, only finding the visage of red eyes peering through the darkness. Assisted by a flashlight, the birthday boy  curiously regards Mariantonia’s current state. She can only find it within herself to lift a finger to point at the roof of the elevator, where the lights had once been. His eyes follow, a hum along with them.

“Oh yeah,  that .” His tone remains, smirk lay across his pale face, “Battery, saving. . .things, stuff. Yeah, so.” After a good-moments stare, his gaze falls back to her, “The building does that after, uhm, what time is i--eight, so.”

He reaches a hand out to her.  Fingers dressed to the nines in pretty bandages patterned with stars, marker designed splints and palms given dashing stitches that match his eyes .

Marinatonia finds Yokaru akin to a beacon, a broken beacon after she smashed her foot right in the centre.  With white hairs splayed on his head reminiscent of an overused mop, eye-catching if nothing else . Nonetheless, as someone older than him she feels more than 

“Upsie daisy, the-uh, party has yet to start. . .we still have your clothes from yesterday, don’t. . . just use the stairs next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no words to excuse myself
> 
>  
> 
> what if sunset said instead of writing something new she posts something she wrote two gotdamn months ago after ghosting for about two years.


	7. Indigo Christmas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yomika Inrot was a very research-driven boy, if he could further his knowledge, he'd take any chance he got!  
> The grand finale of a study gone wrong is presented! Drum roll, please!!
> 
> [This chapter displays implied gore and mild articles of sexual nature. Please view with discretion.]

  
  
  
  
  


**“This study could be counted as a failure.”**

 

His diary always brought him solace, whenever he needed it the book and a small sparkly pen was there. Everything he needed to calm down was in this book, and in the many others, he went through growing up. Even when he lost his right arms skin, the arm he was dominant with, the very same arm he couldn’t wash or even clench for weeks because it **_hurt_** ; this diary was the only thing to record his recovery.

  
  


He wonders, _can his little record track his recovery from this?_

 

Droplets pour from his olwesque eyes, he writes on despite leaving wet marks all over the manilla pages.

 

**“The subject failed to truly spark any sort of reaction inside me.”**

 

The subject.

He never did learn his name, did he?

Yet here he was, straddling the placid leg of said patient, a complete stranger to him, had him tucked into his little bed, a quilt of various fabrics thrown over him.

  
  


**“Conducting another study: Pain.”**

 

It wasn’t the first time he attempted harm to complete his study. The various bite wounds littering the man's collar bone and neck spoke wonders of the time they spent down here. The handprints around his neck, along with the canvas of bruises streaked across his body.

 

Yet when Yomika caresses the smooth skin on the patient's cheek, tangling his fingers in his admittedly aesthetically pleasing hair, he almost chokes.

 

Tears spill over more and more until he could fill a cup with them.

 

It was almost a shame he couldn’t get a proper response from the patient when he complimented him, the narcotics mixed together seemed to have melted his mind into a sense of mixed consciousness and feeble dependancy.

 

He brings their lips to meet, how he read they should, parting the patient’s lips without a second thought.

 

Yomika takes the patient’s tongue in his mouth, before clamping down on it. Sinking his canines into the pink muscle. Severing it.

 

He remembers the man was so cool-headed, so responsible. Now, look at him.

 

Crimson pours onto his lips, down his chin, and he’s too battered from drugs to even realize it.

 

Yomika chews, sobbing and wailing. He hunches over the man’s softly breathing body in self-afflicted agony, the bristly sensation of the muscle oddly pleasant and he wants to gag on it. Yomika’s hips buck against his kneecap, grinding on the bone protruding from under his skin. 

 

Mouth connecting with the subject's ear, nibbles transforming into tearing. His teeth trail down to the subject's neck, tugging at the flesh until it relents.

 

Nothing. Only reddened teeth.

 

With a shaky breath, he pulls away and picks up his pen once more.

 

**“This study, as well, has failed. Neither of us showed any reaction.”**

 

It was almost comical. Looking down on the feeble, glassy-eyed man, he would scoff at the thought of _him_ ever coming to his rescue. Him stumbling around a battlefield is sheer comedic gold. Yomika _would_ laugh, had he been given a carcass.

 

Speaking of.

 

Wet with ruby tears, the page is the second to last in his diary.

 

**“Final study: Death.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy bomb poppers sunset uploaded within the same month im just as surprised as y'all ngl  
> . . . . . .
> 
> i. . .wanna do extreme things every so often--not that this was extreme in any shape, way or form--but I get really nervous and embarrassed. one day ill be cool enough to do scarily extreme, you-went-too-far stuff!


End file.
